Mistaken Identity
by Maricole
Summary: A Profiler NipTuck Crossover
1. Default Chapter

Mistaken Identity.

A Profiler Crossover. Please enjoy

CHAPTER 1

It had been an intensive investigation, and by the time they had a suspect, the whole team was exhausted, due to the long hours they had been working.

Bailey and John headed off to Buckhead, with a search warrant, and a back up team of local police, while George and Rachel both headed for the canteen, to stock up on caffeine to help them through the next few hours.

However Bailey and John were back before an hour was up, empty-handed; their suspect had fled, the house emptied and scrubbed clean.

Back in the control center, and George was once again seated in front of his trusty keyboard, fingers flying, trying to track down contacts, family or friends of the man they were now certain, was guilty of the gruesome murders.

John had his arms crossed on the big table, and was resting his head on his forearms, eyes closed, Rachel was pacing up and down, flicking her pen up and down on the palm of one hand, and Bailey was leaning back, staring at the screen, his mind ticking over, wondering if their reasoning was faulty, or if the man whose photo dominated the room, was in fact, the killer.

"The forensics team will be able to tell if there is any trace of blood splatter, in any room of that house," said Rachel, stopping her pacing for a moment. "Even if he's scrubbed it clean, it will show under blue light. It actually makes our job easier, now that the house is empty."

"In some aspects," agreed Bailey wearily. "But we have to find out where he's gone. We don't want this whole mess starting up again somewhere else."

"He has a sister in Philadelphia," said George. "Let's see – she has a fairly high profile secretarial position with the Governor's office there. – She is married to a police lieutenant. They pull in a fairly good wage, between them too, according to their last tax return. Two children, at private schools – nothing here to suggest anything out of the ordinary. I doubt whether they would know anything about his activities."

"Yes, too much to lose," said Bailey. "But we will visit the sister anyway, maybe she knows some of her brother's favorite places. Anything else?

"Not yet," replied George, picking up a caramel, and unwrapping it. "I'll keep looking. How long do you think the forensics team will be?"

"Grace will be moving them along, that's for sure," said Rachel, flopping down in a chair and heaving a sigh. "Once we get the confirmation from the house, I think I'll feel better. At least we will know who we are chasing, not some horrible phantom that destroys people, then disappears!"

"Look, we have all been putting in 15 or 16 hour days over the last week. Why don't you all go home and catch some sleep. I'll get in touch if anything comes up, otherwise see you back here tomorrow."

John raised his head off the table, and grinned at Bailey.

"Sure thing," he said, and lazily stood up, stretching his arms above his head and rolling his shoulders. "I could use a good 20 hours sleep."

"We all could," said Rachel, rubbing her eyes. " George, you too, you sit in front of that dammed thing far too long."

"I am not a great sleeper," replied George. "Rich is away, I have nothing to go home too. I'll just hunt up a few more things; then I promise I'll catch some sleep. But you should too, Bailey."

"I'll catch some zeds on the couch in my office," said Bailey absentmindedly. "I really think we are close on this one."

John, who was halfway up the stairs, reluctantly came back down. "Are you sure you don't want us to stay, as well?" he asked, indicating Rachel, who was still sitting in the chair next to George, and trying to disguise her yawning.

"No," said Bailey. "Get home and get some sleep. If something comes up, I'll call you – go on, get out of here."

John and Rachel made their way down to the car park in silence. They were both still a little uncomfortable with each other, after the debacle of last year, when the rogue FBI boss Joel Marks had made ridiculous accusations against Rachel, involving her and John in a fabricated sexual harassment scandal, culminating in Marks' murder and Rachel's imprisonment. She had been cleared in the subsequent investigation, but it had changed her, she was not longer as spontaneous and outgoing as she had been, but harder, more aggressive and less likely to laugh.

John walked with Rachel to her car, and waited while she climbed in, much to her disgust, then walked over to where his Porsche was parked, flicking the remote and listening to the car chirrup back at him. He was tired, having slept for only about four or five hours out of the last forty eight, and he was looking forward to collapsing in his own bed, and sleeping for as long as Bailey would let him.

He was about to put his key in the front door of his apartment, when his mobile phone rang. He struggled to open the door, and answer the phone at the same time. Sure enough, it was Bailey, and he looked at the blue screen and swore softly under his breath.

"It looks like we are going to Miami," came Bailey's gravelly voice. "George found an interesting paper trail."

"Now, or in the morning?" asked John wearily, throwing his jacket on the lounge, and pulling off his tie with one hand.

"In the morning, you can have your beauty sleep," came back the reply. "Pack an overnight bag, we leave at 8, see you at the airport."

John stripped off the rest of his clothes, and collapsed naked onto his bed, glancing at the clock on his bedside table. It was 12.40 a.m. He reluctantly set the alarm for 6, turned over and was promptly asleep.

It seemed as though he had only just closed his eyes, when the radio turned on, blaringly loud, and pulled him from one of the nicest dreams he had had for a long time. Groaning he dragged himself out of bed and straight into the bathroom, turning on the shower and standing under the streaming water, raising his face and enjoying the pressure and heat.

He made the plane with minutes to spare, Bailey, George, and Rachel were all there before him, and Bailey was starting to glance at his watch, when John came sprinting down the corridor, carrying his backpack.

"Sorry, traffic was shocking," he said by way of explanation, as they made their way to the FBI jet, warming up on the small runway.

"Miami," said George with a smile. "At least we get to spend a night there. I haven't been there for a long time – I hope you have booked us into a decent hotel this time Bailey."

"We're not here for a holiday," Bailey replied. "But I think it's a good one."

"Pool and spa? Room service?" asked John, and George grinned at him.

"Trust you," was all he said, and Bailey laughed.

"Yes, I think it has a pool, and Jacuzzi," he said, "But of course, we may not have time to indulge in those luxuries. We are here to apprehend a particularly nasty criminal. I have notified the local police. They will be providing us with a car and a guide as well as any back up we will need."


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Everything had gone like a dream. Their suspect had no idea that the FBI had tracked him to his hideaway; that they would even be able to track him through several name changes to his new life in Miami. He was arrested after a slight stand off and long chase, and broke down and confessed to the triple murders in Atlanta. Even Bailey was surprised at the successful conclusion to the case, and was pleased enough to provide a decent dinner for his team at the up market restaurant near to the hotel in which they were staying.

Rachel was pleasantly surprised at having the afternoon off, and being able to wander around and do some sightseeing, while John, who had ended up chasing the suspect around the streets for a couple of kilometers, relaxed in the hotel swimming pool, deepening his tan, and swimming laps. George and Bailey both lazed by the side of the pool, watching John swimming up and down, doing perfect racing turns.

"He makes me tired, just watching him," said George idly and Bailey smiled. "He certainly likes to keep himself fit," he said. "Luckily for us, I wouldn't have been able to chase down that guy this afternoon."

"Me either," said George with a self-conscious laugh. "But it's nice to be able to relax for a little while. And nice that we can stay here tonight and not have to rush back."

"Well the bureau can foot the bill for this," said Bailey. "It's not much, but the team deserves an afternoon off. We have worked bloody hard lately, and had some good successes."

John walked up, rubbing his hair with a towel, his body glistening with water.

"The water's great, why don't you guys swim?" he asked, sitting down on the lounge next to Bailey.

"We'll leave that for you," replied George, indicating his drink. "Do you want one?" He dragged his eyes from John's body reluctantly, they were long time friends and he was a little dismayed to find that John's near nakedness was still quite overpowering. John was superbly fit, his muscles well defined, he looked extremely good standing there dripping.

"Yeah, I'll have a beer," said John, lying back on his towel, unaware of George's inner turmoil. "What time are we meeting for dinner?"

"About 7," replied Bailey. "Time for a shower and shave – the restaurant is fairly formal I hope you both brought decent clothes with you. Otherwise they might not let us in."

John raised an eyebrow. "I only have decent clothes," he said indignantly.

They were escorted to their table by a very superior looking waiter, who led them across the hushed room, and reverently pointed out their round table, and held out the chair for Rachel, acting as if he were conferring a great favor upon her.

The restaurant was packed, and their table seemed to be drawing a lot of attention, with one group of people in particular, turning to look at the VCTF team as they took their seats.

Bailey had ordered champagne to be served with the meal, and they toasted their success. It was an enjoyable meal, and by the time dessert was served, they were all feeling relaxed and happy. John was sitting between Rachel and George, and telling them all sorts of crude jokes, and they were both laughing at his antics, when suddenly a very striking looking blonde woman marched up to the table, and stood glaring at him.

"How dare you do this to me, Christian!" she spat in absolute fury. "I cannot believe even you would stoop to this level! You asshole!"

The VCTF team all turned to look at her, she was looming over John, sparks flying from her eyes. She was literally shaking with anger. He blinked up at her and she continued on with her tirade.

"Everybody told me not to get involved with you, but I couldn't help myself. What they said is true, you are just a jerk!"

John still stared at the woman, unable to form a coherent thought in the face of her very loud accusations, color seeping into his cheeks. People began turning around in their chairs, to watch what was unfolding.

"You think you are God's gift, don't you. Well let me tell you, Dr. Troy, you are scum. You enjoy hurting women, you are a piece of shit!"

Bailey half rose to his feet, putting down his glass. "Now look here, young lady, I don't think…" but she cut him off.

"Who ever you are, this is none of your business," she snapped at him. Her eyes wandered over to Rachel who was also staring at her out of wide eyes. "I suppose he has spoken his honeyed lies to you as well. Let me be the one to warn you, don't believe anything he says. All he wants is to get into your pants. And he will throw you away like garbage when he's finished. Don't be another notch on his headboard. His looks and performance aren't worth the heartache, trust me."

Rachel swallowed and opened her mouth to reply, but the blonde was off again.

"He is a serial liar, and not that great a doctor, either!"

John stood up abruptly, conscious of the quietness of the diners around them, who had abandoned all attempts to pretend not to listen.

"Just a minute," he said, "I have no idea what you are talking about, but I don't know you…"

"Oh please Christian, do you really think for one moment that pathetic excuse is going to hold water? I thought if anything, you would be more creative with your lies. You asshole! And it looks to me like you have been having too much botox! It's about time you acted your age, even if you can't bear to look it!"

"My name is John Grant, and I have absolutely no…"

The blonde cut him off again. "John? Couldn't you come up with a more original name than John? To call off our date, when I had arranged for you to meet my friends and my agent was bad enough. But then to come here, in front of everyone I know, and ignore me – to turn up with these people and look straight through me like you don't know who I am, well that is the lowest thing you could do. Did you deliberately set out to make a fool of me? They told me you could be cruel, Christian, but even I didn't think you would be this low. Scum!"

Bailey walked around the table, and took out his FBI identification.

"My name is Bailey Malone," he said. "I understand that you are upset, Madam, but the agent to whom you are speaking, is not who you think he is."

"Bullshit," she snapped back. "What now, are you pretending to be a cop or something? Please!" and she continued to glare at John. "This man is an imposter," she said to Bailey. "His name is Christian Troy, and he is a surgeon here in Miami."

John rolled his eyes towards Rachel in mute appeal. "My name is Jo…"

"I am not deaf, I heard your pathetic lie the first time," she yelled, swinging around on her heel. "I'm going, you won't see me again. Asshole!" and she strode off, leaving everyone in the restaurant looking at John with degrees of sympathy or disgust, mostly disgust.

John sat back down, feeling heat and colour seeping into his face, staring down at the table in embarrassment, conscious of the stares of the people around them. George, who hadn't spoken the whole time, leaned forward.

"I didn't know you were a doctor," he said, and the rest of the team began to laugh.

"Well of course I am going to leave a really good paying job, like a surgeon, to be a lowly paid FBI agent," said John, slowly regaining his equanimity. "She was certainly upset, whoever she was. Is everyone still staring at me?"

"Yes still staring," said Rachel. "Whoever this Christian guy is, he's made an enemy, that's for sure. I thought she was going to hit you John."

"Yes, so did I," he replied. "She was one scary female. I feel sorry for the guy. Hell, I feel sorry for me."

George laughed and patted him on the arm. "We'll protect you," he said soothingly.

"I don't think I've ever been called an asshole four times in one night by the same person before," he went on to say. "I wonder who this Christian is? I wonder how much he looks like me?"

"Surely there couldn't be another one like you," said George jokingly. "Life couldn't be that cruel."

"Well thank you," said John, still subdued "Do you guys mind if we leave here, I really feel very uncomfortable all of a sudden."

"That's a good idea," said Bailey. "Our waiter is glowering at us, he's probably about to kick us out for making a scene in his restaurant!"

"I didn't make a scene," said John bitterly, but George laughed.

"No, but you were the cause of it, however innocent," he told him.

They filed out, John trying not to look left or right at the faces of the people around who clearly would have heard what was said to him. Once outside the restaurant, he turned to his co-workers and smiled ruefully, glad to feel the cool night air on his hot face.

"That was a very interesting finish to a great meal," he said. "But I don't want to do anything else in case I run into that frightening woman again. I think I'll go back to our room now, and watch a little must see TV. What are the rest of you going to do?"

Rachel looked out at the ocean, and sighed.

"I'd love to walk along the beach," she said, feeling the soft night breeze waft through her hair, lifting it a little. "I don't get to do that a lot. George, Bailey – come with me?"

Bailey looked over at the water, and smiled. "I haven't walked along the beach with a beautiful woman for many years," he said "I'm game."

"And you too George," said Rachel, threading her arm through Bailey's and extending her other hand towards George. "You spend far, far too much time in front of your computer screen. Come and breathe some gentle ocean air, and feel the night breeze on your face."

"How could I refuse such a poetic invitation," said George, his dark eyes shining. "If you fall asleep, you'd better not be snoring when I get back," he said to John, who grinned back at him.

"I'm not the one who snores," he said quickly, his eyes straying towards Bailey, who snorted indignantly.

"Let's go," he said to Rachel, deliberately turning his back on the younger man, and John's laugh followed them across the street.

John stayed for a moment, watching them walk across the road, down over the grass, to the sand and across it to the water's edge. He turned and walked several paces back toward the motel room, when a large black limousine pulled up alongside the curb next to where he was standing.

"Ah, Doctor Troy," said the Latino man who emerged from the back of the car, closely followed by a second. "I have been looking for you, I was told by the beautiful young lady you have been seeing, that you would be here tonight. I would like you to accompany me."

John frowned. "You've got the wrong guy," he said shortly, and kept walking, only to be forcibly swung around by a large hand grabbing his shoulder. He found himself looking into the barrel of a gun.

"Don't pretend you don't know me, Doc." said the man. "My friend here is not scared to use his gun. You will see it has a silencer on it. I asked you nicely, now I'm telling you – get in the car!"

John shook his head. "My name is John Grant, I do not know who you are or what you want," he repeated firmly, and with a sudden movement, grabbed the hand on his shoulder and twisted it around, so the man who had been holding him was now effectively nullified.

The man whose arm he was twisting fell to his knees, grunting in pain, while the first man who had spoken to him smiled slowly.

"You have learnt a little since we talked last time," he said, "But you knew I would come looking for you, surely, you and your partner, after what you did to Escobar? He left me in charge, and he expects me to make things right."

"I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about," said John. "But I'm willing to discuss it down at the Police station."

"You don't want to go to the Police, Doctor Troy. Surely not – besides which, I already have your partner. He's waiting for you at Escobar's house. You wouldn't want anything to happen to him, would you?"

As he was speaking, the man kneeling in front of John aimed an elbow at John's groin, and pulled free. At the same time the first man pulled the trigger on his gun, and a tranquilizer dart buried itself in John's side. John stared down at the dart in dismay, then everything began to go fuzzy, and as he fell forward, he felt his body being pushed into the car.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

"Come in, let's have a night cap," said Bailey, pausing at the door to his motel room. "I'm sure John won't be asleep yet."

Rachel nodded, rubbing sand off her hands, and smiling.

"That was wonderful," she said to George. "There's something special about the water at night, isn't there."

Bailey opened the door, and indicated that Rachel proceed him into the room. She turned on the light, and looked around in surprise. It was a big room, with three single beds but none of them contained John, sleeping or otherwise, in fact the room was in silence, the television was turned off.

George also looked around, raising his eyebrows.

"I guess John went for a walk as well," he said.

Bailey opened the mini bar, and handed Rachel a cold beer, and opened one for himself and another for George.

"Perhaps he's at the bar," he commented, sitting on the nearest bed, and loosening his tie. "Nothing feels better at the end of a case, than a drink and a smoke." He opened his jacket and removed a cigar, then stood up, opening the sliding door, and walked out onto the balcony facing the ocean.

Rachel joined him, breathing deeply in the soft night air.

"Well I'd agree with you, but for the cigar," she said. "But it's so good to get a positive result. And not to have to rush back. Grace will be upset she couldn't come on this trip, She loves it down here."

"It's hard with two little ones," said Bailey. "She's doing the right thing, cutting back on work a little, for them."

They stayed that way for a moment, staring out at the ocean, and watching the lights reflected in the water.

Rachel finished her drink, and turned back into the room.

"I'm going to bed now," she said to the two men. "I'll catch you in the morning, what time does the plane leave?"

"About 9," said Bailey. "The pilot won't go without me. Sleep well, see you in the dining room for breakfast at 8."

Rachel disappeared next door, and George flung himself down on one of the beds, flicking the television on with the remote.

"I'm ready to turn in too," he told Bailey. "I hope John keeps it quiet when he comes in."

Bailey sat on the balcony, eyes half closed, utterly relaxed, enjoying the night, the peace, and the cigar.

He was happy for this moment in time, the criminal had been caught, his department was once again vindicated, and his team was relaxed and happy. He stubbed out the cigar butt, and headed into the bathroom to prepare for bed, hoping like George, that when John came in, he would do so quietly.

John was aware of voices around him, but they seemed to be coming from a long distance away. He remembered being pushed into the car, and being called by another name, but it didn't seem important to him, of much more concern was the buzzing noise in his ears, and the fact that when he opened his eyes he seemed to be looking at things through the wrong end of a pair of binoculars. He was aware of the movement of the car, but it seemed to be soothing to him, he wanted to close his eyes and give into the rocking motion, but deep down he knew he should be fighting the drug that was racing through his system.

The car could have been driven for five minutes or fifty, he had no way of knowing, but suddenly he was being dragged out of the back seat, and being shoved forward, being made to walk when his legs felt like they were made from string. He obediently followed the man in front of him, being persuaded by the pushing from the man behind him, into the building, down some stairs and through a corridor; and then stood still as the man in front of him unlocked a door.

He was unceremoniously shoved inside and the door slammed shut behind him. He stood, swaying back and forth uncertainly, in the dimly lit room, and finally stumbled forward to collapse against a wall, sliding down it till he was lying on the dirty floor.

"Christian?" came a voice from the other side of the room. John moaned a little, and tried to sit up.

"Christian, my God, I can't believe they've got you too. What the hell are we going to do?"

John blinked at the man who loomed over him. "What?" he asked stupidly, not able to focus on what the man was saying to him.

"Christian, concentrate! What have they done to you? More botox or what?"

"A tranq. dart, I think," John mumbled, slurring his words slightly "Not that strong, but quick. Sorry can't think straight." And he closed his eyes and sighed.

"Well they grabbed me after I left the clinic this afternoon. It's Escobar

Gallardo's brother and Pepe – We're really screwed now. What are we going to do?"

"Sleep," mumbled John, unconcerned. He didn't know or care at the moment, what was happening, the drug had caused him to totally relax and he could no longer keep awake. The man who was so urgently whispering to him would have to wait.

"Christian, wake up," the man said, shaking his shoulder quite roughly. "Fight that drug, come on! They are going to kill us!"

"Not Christian," said John opening his eyes. "John, my name is John."

Sean McNamara dropped his head in his hands, and tried to subdue the rising panic that threatened to overcome him.

"What is wrong with you!" he demanded angrily. "This is mostly your fault! If you hadn't taken that case, we wouldn't be in this situation. Come on wake up!" and he slapped John's face softly, but repeatedly until John shook his head and sat up in self defense.

"What the fuck is going on?" he asked pushing the other man away. His eyes were beginning to focus a little better in the dim light, he could make out the regular features of the man facing him, even distinguish the color of his sandy brown hair and blue eyes, and especially the pained and panicked expression on his otherwise pleasant face. "Who are you?"

The panicked and pained expression vanished to be replaced by a look of pure exasperation.

"Don't fuck around Christian, it's not the time nor the place. We are in danger, I don't have time for your stupid games now!"

John blinked at this person and rubbed his face where he had been slapped.

"Humor me," he said, his voice stronger now. "Just who are you? And who is Escobar Galliado? And why would they be holding us here."

"Christian, I swear, if we get out of this alive, I'm going to kill you myself." The brown haired man flung himself away from John, and stomped back into the corner of the room, which John now realized was completely empty.

He made several attempts, but finally managed to stand upright, and started taking in deep breaths to try and clear his head. He fumbled around, but found the pockets of his suit jacket and pants empty, he couldn't remember if he had been carrying anything of importance or not, but if he had been, they were long gone now. He knew that he had not been carrying either his gun or his badge and i.d. so as far as the kidnappers knew, he was this Christian character, someone John was beginning to dislike very much.

The other man watched him sourly. After about five minutes, John walked over to where he was sitting, and sat down next to him.

"My name is John Grant," he said softly. "I live in Atlanta. I only arrived in Miami this morning. I don't know who Christian is, but I think we need to work together to try and get out of this place."

"Oh Christian," said the other man. "What the hell am I going to do with you? If you think those killers out there are going to buy that story, then you must have hit your head pretty damn hard when they captured you."

"I guess you know this Christian pretty well," said John, ignoring the other man's words.

"And I understand I must look like him, too. But believe me, I am not Christian. Is there anything I can do, or show you that will prove it? And please, what is your name?"

Sean turned to look at him, shaking his head with anger and disgust, then turned away.

"After what we have been through together, I can't believe that you would do this, deny me, deny our friendship." And he lay down on the dirty floor, with his back to John, curled up in a fetal position, trying to control his panicked breathing.

John sighed and stood back up, prowling around the room. There was only one window, set high up, about 8' off the ground, letting in a weak amount of moonlight, amplified by the light from a street post. It was fairly small, but John was confident he could probably squeeze through, if he could reach it. But when he jumped up a few times, he saw that it was covered with mesh. The rest of the room was completely empty. There was not even an empty bottle or piece of wood he could use as a weapon.

He eventually sat back down, across the room from the other man, and clasped his knees to his chest, thinking. He would rest, and try to figure out what was happening in the morning. The drug was still in his system; whispering about sleep so he lay back down and closed his eyes.

The light on his face woke him, for a moment he didn't know where he was, or why his neck felt stiff, and why he was sleeping in his clothes. With a dry mouth and pounding headache, he forced himself to sit up, and found the other man sitting staring at him from a small distance away.

"You come to your senses yet?" the other man demanded, staring at him. "They'll be coming soon."

John rubbed his hands over his face, and went to stand up, wincing a little at the sharp ache in his side. He unbuttoned his shirt, and looked down; where the tranquilizer dart had pierced his skin was a large bruise, and a small puncture wound that had bled slightly but was now closed over. The other man came up with an impatient movement, and pulled his shirt open, to examine the wound.

"It's just a bruise," he said impatiently.

His eyes then wandered up John's chest, and focused on the scar left by the bullet that had ploughed into him two years before. He then looked up more closely at John's face, and stared intently at him for several minutes, his mouth open with shock.

"My God," he said, eventually "You're not Christian."

"Hallelujah," said John. "Thank you. My name is John Grant. And you are?"

"Sean McNamara." He put out his hand, and John shook it slowly. The two men stared at each other.

"The resemblance is amazing," said McNamara. "Christian and I are partners, I have know him for nearly 20 years. I can't believe how much you look like him."

"You are not the only one," replied John ruefully. "Those men out there thought I was your partner. And some strange and angry blonde woman also. He's a very un- popular person, this Christian. I can't wait to meet him myself."

Sean smiled. "Christian is… well I guess unless we get out of here, you will never know. I can see some differences now, in this light and up close. But you are very like him."

He continued to study John's face intently with the eye of a surgeon. "I think you must be younger than Christian, what, about 30 or so?"

John smiled a little. "I will be 31 next birthday," he said, "if I make it that is."

He re-buttoned his shirt, and tucked it into the waistband of his trousers.

"Tell me what this is all about," he asked, sitting back down, "And maybe we can work out how to get out of here together, and in one piece."

Sean shrugged his shoulders and pulled his knees to his chest, clasping his hands and rocking a little.

"These people are into drugs, in a very big way," he said eventually. "They were blackmailing Christian and I – threatening us with all sorts of stuff. We thought we'd sorted things out, but…I know they are going to kill us."

John raised an eyebrow. "Why were they blackmailing you?" he asked, zeroing in on the one thing Sean didn't want to talk about.

Sean shook his head impatiently. "That doesn't matter at the moment," he said. "We need to work out some sort of plan to get out of here."

"Well I would like to know exactly why these people intend to kill me," said John reasonably. "And the only plan I can come up with, is hit hard, and run like hell when they open the door."

Sean looked at him again. "I've never been into fighting much," he said. "I can't risk injuring my hands at all. I'm a surgeon, not a boxer. Besides, there are three of them, and they are armed."

John looked at him steadily, raising one eyebrow. "I don't intend to go like a lamb to the slaughter," he said. "They will be expecting us to resist, surely."

"They may have something else in mind," said Sean slowly. "They may want us to perform some surgery first. That's what they used to make us do – they were bringing in heroin, disguised as implants in girls' breasts. They were making Christian and I perform surgeries to remove them. We should have gone to the police I know that now. To his credit, Christian wanted to from the first."

John stared at Sean steadily. "What on earth did they have over you, to make you do that?" he asked. "It must have been something huge!"

Sean continued to shake his head. "They know that I won't fight, and they have already tortured Christian, and think that he is cowed as well."

"Tortured!"said John, screwing up his face, "Well perhaps they will give me an opening." He sensed that Sean would not say any more. "I guess I'll have to be Christian for a while, perhaps I can surprise them. But I'm not performing surgery on anyone. Except maybe on one of the guys who brought me here," he amended. "If I get lucky!"

He stretched his body; then touched the ground several times, going through a series of stretching and limbering exercises, anything to keep his mind occupied and muscles warm and ready.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Rachel was sitting at the dining table, and had already downed a glass of orange juice, when Bailey came storming up.

"Have you seen John this morning?" he demanded, and she looked at him in surprise.

"No," she replied. "But I've only been here about 20 minutes or so."

"He didn't come back to the room last night," said Bailey angrily. "And he is not answering his phone. I thought he'd be a little bit more responsible this time. If he is not back by the time the plane leaves, I am prepared to leave him here."

"Sit down, Bails," said Rachel soothingly. "Have a coffee. He'll turn up; he's done this before. Probably picked up some bimbo last night, and is on his way back here now." She grimaced as she said it, feeling a little hurt inside, but not really understanding why.

"I expect my agents to act with a little more decorum," said Bailey angrily. George joined them, raising his eyebrows at Rachel behind Bailey's back.

"Decorum and John have never been introduced," said George. "We have an hour before the plane leaves. Otherwise, he's flying back on the commercial flight."

Bailey poured himself a cup of coffee. "The only thing is he has left his wallet in the motel room," he said. "So he would be walking back, and it's a bloody long walk!"

"Maybe he ran into that blonde again," said Rachel, "And decided to try and make up!"

George sniggered a little, at the memory, and poured his own coffee.

"Well, I need to go to the police station on the way to the airport," said Bailey, "And check up on some paperwork. I hope John realizes that he can meet us there, if he misses us here. And he knows the rules about turning his phone off!"

"He's a big boy Bailey," said George. "Don't worry about him. I'm sure he'll work it out."

But even George was looking a little worried by the time they had finished their breakfast, and John had not showed up.

Bailey's mood gradually deteriorated, while they packed up the motel rooms, and checked out. There was still no sign of John, and George threw his belongings into his backpack, while Bailey fumed.

They climbed into the car that had been provided for them, and drove to the police station, with Bailey beginning to get worried and consequently angrier with each minute that passed.

At Police Headquarters, Bailey and the investigating detective headed off to exchange paperwork, while Rachel and George made themselves coffee, and lounged inconspicuously against a wall, trying to stay out of the way of the busy comings and goings of the local police.

Rachel looked out of the window, sipping her coffee and began wondering why John's absence was causing her to worry, and what exactly he was doing, when she heard George swear, and looked over to see John walking out of one of the side rooms with another detective.

As she looked, Bailey came out of the office he had been working in, and saw John also. The three of them converged on him in an instant.

"Where on earth did he find time to change his clothes, and get a haircut?" whispered George to her as they reached Bailey, who had planted himself in John's path, in a very aggressive manner.

"What the hell do you think you're playing at?" he demanded. "Where the hell have you been?"

"I beg your pardon?" came the unexpected reply, accompanied with a sarcastic lift of one eyebrow.

Rachel stared at him in amazement; he looked older, harder, and much more confident, he seemed to carry himself differently, almost arrogantly.

Bailey ground his teeth. "John, I don't need this today. You've let the team down again! George has your bag, get in the car."

The crystal blue eyes darkened. "I have no idea what you are talking about, and what's more, I don't care. I haven't got time to play kiddy's games this morning; I'm due in surgery in an hour. Please excuse me." And he turned his back to walk away, leaving the three VCTF people staring after him in mute silence. Bailey began striding after him, when one of the local detectives came towards him on the other side.

"Dr. Troy?" he called out, and the man they thought was John stopped and turned back.

"Yes?" he said, ignoring Bailey and looking at the detective.

"We will let you know if we find anything out about your partner," said the detective, stepping back to allow Bailey to pass in front of him. "You will let us know if he gets in touch with you?"

Christian Troy nodded, and turned to leave, without wasting another glance on the three FBI agents. Bailey once more stepped around to block his path.

Rachel joined them quickly, putting one hand on Bailey's arm to calm him down. "Dr Troy?" she asked, tentatively.

The man who looked so much like her colleague and friend turned his smoldering blue gaze on her, looking at her assessingly for a moment, before nodding.

"Do I know you?" he asked, frowning a little.

"No," replied Rachel, staring back at him in amazement. "But I have heard of you. And you won't believe this, but you look exactly like someone we are looking for."

"Well that's all very interesting," he said, implying that it was anything but. "I do have to get back to the clinic though, I am operating shortly, and unless I can find my partner very soon, I'll be looking for an assistant, so please excuse me."

He walked away from them without a backwards glance, leaving them staring at his immaculately clothed back, in surprise and shock.

George shook his head for a moment, then turned to Rachel and Bailey, still disbelieving.

"I don't believe it," he said, totally shocked. "I don't believe it!"

"It's very strange," said Bailey frowning. "The whole thing is weird."

Rachel nodded. "The resemblance between the two men is uncanny," she said. "I wonder what he meant about finding his partner?"

As one, they turned back to question the detective that had been talking to Troy, all thoughts of returning to Atlanta vanishing. Bailey phoned the pilot of their plane, and told him to stand down till further notice.

"Well his partner's car was found, unlocked and with one door open, in a 10 minute parking zone, only a couple of blocks from his clinic," began the detective. "He hasn't been answering his cell or his pager. He is fairly well known around here, as one of the city's finer surgeons, he and his partner run a very successful clinic."

"Has there been any sign of trouble at all? What was the partner's name?" asked Rachel, still watching out of the window, the upright figure of Christian Troy stride through the car park.

"Sean McNamara," replied the detective. "Never heard a whisper about him. I'm told he's an excellent surgeon with a very solid reputation. Doesn't seem the type to just vanish without letting someone know where he is. Still, its early in the day – he hasn't been officially listed as missing yet, just that a patrol found his car like that – and we called his partner to see if he knew why."

Bailey looked over at Rachel. "What do you think?" he asked her, and she dragged her gaze back to stare at him in bewilderment.

"I don't know," she replied. "We need to figure out what is happening here. And somehow, I have a strange feeling that Doctor Troy's partner's disappearance is connected to John's."

Bailey made his mind up with his usual precision.

"George, you are going back to Atlanta, Rachel and I will stay here for at least the rest of today, and possibly tomorrow, to try and find where John has disappeared to. We will also investigate the two doctors as well – Rachel's right, that is way too much of a coincidence. Maybe John's disappearance is connected, maybe not, but we will check out what we can. I'll have a car take you to the airport. Let Marcus know we should be back tomorrow – and keep me informed of anything important."

Rachel went with George to the airport, then took the police car back to the motel where they had stayed the previous night, and rebooked the two rooms, one for her and one for Bailey, and then began walking back towards the restaurant, and the last place they had seen John.

She was convinced that John's disappearance was somehow tied up with his amazing likeness to Christian Troy, and she intended to go and talk to the surgeon at his clinic, but first she wanted to see if she could sense something, anything, that would give her a clue as to what had happened to John. She would also find out who the blonde woman was, and talk to her. Feeling a little better, with a course of action to follow, she walked along the pavement, trying to imagine the path that John would have taken last night.

She reached the doors of the restaurant, which was closed at this hour, and stood there for a moment, then turned around and slowly retraced her steps.

Half way along the path, she turned once more, and looked over at the beach, closing her eyes a little, and breathing in the warm air; then continued back towards the motel, and her borrowed car. Something in the gutter caught her eye, and she bent down to pick it up. Dread curled up through her body, as she found she was holding a syringe, attached to a dart. It might not have anything to do with John, but she hurried back to get it tested.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

Sean tensed as the door to their prison was unlocked, but John stood up, tucking his shirt in, and prepared to face his kidnappers.

Two men entered the room, both carrying handguns, and indicated that Sean and John should come with them, by way of waving their guns around, so with Sean following him, John walked out of the door, and down the corridor, into another room, an office, by the look of the furniture.

"Ah, Doctors Troy and McNamara," said a man, who was relaxing in a large and comfortable leather chair, behind an impressive looking desk. "I am so glad you are co-operating with Miguel and Pepe. I think we can come to a profitable arrangement."

He indicated for them to sit in the two chairs that were placed there, and when John hesitated, one of the men behind him hit him quite sharply, on one shoulder, with the butt of his gun, and shoved him towards the chair. John sat down next to Sean without saying anything and not putting a hand up to rub his shoulder, which he wanted to do, but cast a speculative sideways look at the man who had hit him.

One of the men, the shorter older one, was the one known to Sean as Pepe – but it was the bigger, younger one that had hit John, and who now looked down at him with a contemptuous sneer on his face.

The man facing them sat down also, and regarded them both, but mostly looked at Sean.

"Escobar wants me to kill you both," he said smiling gently, as if discussing the weather. "But I need money, and I am a reasonable man, so I am sure with your skill, we can come to an arrangement that is profitable to all of us. The first of the girls will be arriving tonight, and you'll do the removal of the implants. After you have done several, we might talk about letting you go."

"We can't operate here," said Sean. "I need a proper operating room, with the proper facilities."

"Rest assured, Doctor McNamara, I have everything here that you will need. So Miguel will escort you to a room where you can freshen up, and bring you some food. The first girl comes at 6, you will be prepared to operate then, or I will kill you both."

Sean glanced at John, who nodded at him. "We have no choice Sean," he said, hoping it was the sort of thing Christian would have said. "These bastards have us over a barrel."

"I would advise you to watch your mouth, Doctor Troy," came the response, "I understand that you are the less talented of the partners. Miguel already doesn't like you, and I would hate to see his zeal end up in your death."

John stared defiantly back at him for a moment, then dropped his eyes, giving the cold- eyed men watching, the impression of being angry, but scared. The larger man, Miguel, sniggered a little, and grabbed his arm, pulling him to his feet, and pushing him roughly toward the doorway.

"Oh by the way," said the man behind the desk. "My name is Salvatore – Escobar is my brother. I hope you gentlemen will understand if I am a little upset at what you did to him. I hope neither of you does something that upsets me or one of my men, further."

He left the threat, hanging in the air, before the one known as Miguel pushed John hard in the back, causing him to stumble out of the door, and crash into the wall opposite the doorway, and laughing when he did so.

John ground his teeth, and silently counted to ten under his breath, to control his temper.

They were unceremoniously shoved into a different room this time, and the door locked behind them. John twisted the knob on the door a few times then turned to look around the room.

"At least we have a bed now," he said, "And a bathroom, thank God. And some towels, do you want first shower, or shall I?"

Sean sat on the bed. He looked sick.

"I can't do what he wants," he said to John. "Ethically, I can't operate on some poor woman, under these conditions. But these men are killers, and they will kill us."

John sat down beside him. "Look," he said "Your partner must know you are missing by now, and the people I came with will know I am missing, so there are people out there looking for us right now. We have to pretend to go along with what they want, and wait for the right opportunity to make our escape. You are going to have to do these surgeries, because there is no way I could do it – but we are going to have to bluff our way through.

I am going to try to nudge this Miguel, he looks hot headed to me, and I am going keep pushing at him to see what sort of reaction I get. If something happens to me, you keep doing what they say, and hanging in there, because someone will eventually work out where you are."

Sean looked at him and frowned. "What did you say you did for a living?" he asked, and John smiled.

"It doesn't matter at this stage," he said. "I'm going to check out the shower, and try and have a proper sleep for a few hours. I suggest you do the same; you'll want to be as fresh as you can."

Sean lay back on the bed, and listened to the water running in the bathroom. A commotion at the door made him stand up quickly, the door opened and Miguel came in carrying a tray, which he shoved onto a table.

"Coffee and your lunch senor," he said, "Where is your partner?"

Sean indicated the bathroom with a jerk of his head, and the other man sneered and took a step in the direction of the bathroom, then stopped and looked at Sean.

"Enjoy your lunch, it may be your last," and he walked out of the room, making sure Sean heard the lock turn. When John came out of the shower, still rubbing a towel through his wet and curling hair, Sean was drinking hot coffee and eating a sandwich.

He indicated the coffee pot, and John poured himself a cup, his face screwing up a little, he wasn't a huge coffee fan, but needed something hot and wet to drink.

"That's better," he said, finally taking a sip. "I know I had to put back on the same clothes, but the shower is o.k. Why don't you have one, then try to rest till they come back?"

"I will," said Sean and disappeared into the bathroom. When he came out John was lying on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. Sean went over and poured himself the dregs of the coffee, and sat down, staring across at the other man.

"I still can not believe how much you look like Christian," he said to John. "The likeness is amazing, and has to be familial. Christian was fostered out as a baby, and doesn't know what his actual birth name was. What are the chances you could be related?"

John shrugged his shoulders. "Within the realms of possibility I suppose," he said. "My old man was – is a bastard. It's more than possible he impregnated some poor girl on his travels around. And, unfortunately, I look like my father, so I guess Christian must look like my father as well."

"Christian will tell you the only fortunate thing in his life has been his looks," said Sean, and John slanted an amused glance at him.

"Well he can't look that much like me then," he said lying back down and closing his eyes. "Get some rest while you can Sean, conserve your strength for whatever happens later."

Bailey had the dart flown to Grace for analyzing. He prowled around the police station, trying not to appear too anxious, but he was becoming very worried. Rachel stayed to see the package on its way to Atlanta; then grabbed a directory.

"I'm going to talk with the partner again," she said. "I am convinced that John's disappearance has something to do with that Doctor Troy. It's too much of a coincidence."

Bailey nodded his agreement. "I'll stay here – just in case he gets in touch. Take someone with you – I can't afford to lose another of my agents."

Rachel nodded, and after some consultation, a young female detective came over and introduced herself as Stacey Loxton, and told Rachel she had been asked to accompany her while she made her enquiries.

"I hope you don't misplace your agents often," said Stacey to Rachel as they got into the unmarked police car with which Rachel had been provided. "It sort of takes away a lot of the mystique of the Bureau."

Rachel smiled wryly. "Well, this is John we are talking about…" she replied, "And he is rather a special case."

Stacey glanced over at her. "Where are we going?" she asked, pulling out of the police park, and entering the traffic. Rachel told her the address, which luckily she knew, and they drove for a while in silence.

"So tell me about this agent, what's so special about him?" Stacey finally said, and Rachel shrugged her shoulders.

"He is one of the team," she said finally. "Someone I work with very closely. You know how it is."

"Yes, I know how it is. What makes him special in your eyes?" said Stacey with a grin.

Rachel gave a small laugh. "Well, lets see, he's aggravating, irritating, and contrary," she said.

"And?" prompted the young detective.

"And loyal and funny sometimes, and always trying to argue with me. All of those things – he's John, and he's my friend."

Stacey nodded. "Yes," she said, "In our job, we need to rely on each other, and look out for one another. How on earth have you misplaced him?"

"Well, I think he's been kidnapped," said Rachel bluntly, finally voicing her fears.

Stacey flicked a glance at her; then turned her attention back towards the traffic. "Kidnapped?" she queried. "Does he know anyone here, I thought you guys were only here for a day or so."

"We are," responded Rachel. "But I think it's a case of mistaken identity."

The young detective nodded, and pulled the car over into the car park of a fairly modern building, turning off the engine.

"This is the address you gave me," she said. "A doctors surgery?"

"I need to talk to one of the doctors here," said Rachel, climbing out of the car and straightening her skirt. The two women entered through the door of the fancy looking clinic, and Rachel pulled out her i.d. badge as she approached the reception desk.

"I need to talk to Dr. Troy," she told the pretty receptionist. "FBI"

The receptionist looked up rather superciliously. "Doctor Troy is in surgery at the moment," she said.

"Well we will just wait over here," said Rachel, "And you can let him know as soon as he is available, that we are waiting."

"It could be sometime," said the receptionist, "But I'll inform Nurse Linda, as soon as she comes out, and she will relay the message."

They sat down in the plush waiting room, and after glancing around, Stacey lent forward.

"This place is fairly well known here in Miami," she said to Rachel, in a low voice. "Why would you think one of the doctors here know anything about your partner's disappearance?"

"I don't know anything," replied Rachel honestly. "But I need to talk to Doctor Troy, he is the image of John Grant, and his partner is missing also. There has to be a connection."

They looked up, as Christian Troy came into the waiting area. Rachel's heart leaped again, and she had to remind herself strongly, that this man wasn't John, and of course she had never seen John dressed in blue scrubs that exactly matched his eyes. Or have quite such a measuring look in those same blue eyes, when he stared at her. Stacey sent an inquiring glance at Rachel, who stood up, and held out her badge.

"Doctor Troy, I need to speak with you," she said crisply, "Have you heard from your partner yet?"

Christian Troy looked annoyed, but he indicated that the women should follow him down to his office.

"I am very busy," he told Rachel, sitting down behind his desk, and folding his arms in a slightly irritated manner. "I have just finished two operations, and have another in an hour. No, I haven't heard from my partner."

"Is this usual behavior for Doctor McNamara?" asked Rachel, not intimidated at all by Christian's brusque manner. "Does he often leave you to carry the case load?"

"No," Christian shook his head, and some of the tenseness left him. "No, he doesn't usually skip his surgeries, he is way too responsible. In fact, I think something has happened to him."

"Do you know of anyone who would want to stop you or your partner from performing surgery?" she asked, leaning forward, unable to stop staring at him. "Have you got some special operation to perform that someone would want to stop perhaps?"

"No," he said, looking at her as if she were mad. "All of our operations are special. I have no idea why Sean would go missing."

"Well I think that someone has detained him, and you as well," said Rachel, still staring at the handsome face she knew so well, yet not at all. "And we have to work out why and who."

"I have no idea how I can help you," he said, standing up. "Obviously no one has detained me. Hopefully Sean will turn up."

Rachel stood also, though she was still looking up at him. "No, not you," she said. "I think these people have got John instead, thinking he is you. I told you before, that he looks very much like you."

Christian sat back down. "You think my partner and yours, have been kidnapped?"

"Yes," she replied. "And I think you must know something about why. Even if you don't think you know."

Christian stared at her for a long time, then chewed a bit on his bottom lip, and Rachel shook her head in disbelief. It was a major habit of John's, to bite his lip when thinking, or under stress.

"This guy, he means a lot to you, doesn't he?" he said. and Rachel refused to drop her eyes, but stared back at him, without answering.

Eventually he stood up. "I really do have another procedure to do in a few minutes," he said, even as a nurse knocked and entered the room. "I will think about what you've said, and if I get any thoughts, I'll contact you."

"I would like to talk to you again, after you have finished," said Rachel smoothly, to disguise how rattled she was by his likeness to John. "I will wait till I hear from you."

The two women walked back to the car, and as Stacey slid into the driver's seat, she turned to Rachel.

"So you are telling me that your partner looks like Christian Troy?" she said, raising both eyebrows.

"Uncannily like him," replied Rachel taking a deep breath to steady herself before buckling her seat belt. "Why?"

"Wow," said Stacey with a grin. "No wonder you want to find him. That doctor was a real looker. Can you imagine having his healing hands all over your body?"

Rachel laughed again. "No, I think it would be strange. He looks too much like John, even has some of his mannerisms. It's really most bizarre."

They headed back to police headquarters, Rachel staring blankly out of the window, not seeing the buildings, or the people, but worrying, wondering where John was, and what had happened to him, and feeling helpless because she didn't know what to do or where to go next, in order to find him.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

The door to their room was unlocked and opened abruptly. Sean and John both stood up, facing their captors. The larger of the men, Miguel grabbed John's arm, and half pulled, half shoved him out into the hall.

"Down there," was all he said, and John pulled away abruptly, glaring back at the larger man who was smirking at him! For some reason, Miguel seemed to have taken a dislike to him, and seemed to enjoy physically pushing him around, which suited John's needs, but made him feel a little squeamish inside, pondering the reasons for it.

He and Sean found themselves in another room, larger than the one they had been imprisoned in, equipped with a large adjustable bed, and lots of pieces of medical equipment that made John feel apprehensive. He glanced quickly at Sean, who began examining the equipment laid out. John stood back, and made no move to study the shining instruments, till Miguel shoved his gun into John's back, and pushed him forward against Sean.

"One day I'm going to take that gun away from you," he said spinning around in anger to face the sneering man, "And shove it …"

"Christian," said Sean loudly, grabbing his arm. "Let's just stay calm."

Miguel sneered. "Oh dear, should I be scared of you?" he asked, and the other man, Pepe, laughed as well.

John ground his teeth, realizing Sean was right, and it wasn't time to make a stand, turned his back on the larger man, but was suddenly grabbed on the arm and pulled back.

"Pepe tells me you screamed like a little child, when Escobar stuck you with those needles," Miguel said nastily, with an evil smile. "I will enjoy making you scream too!"

And he licked his lips right in John's face.

Again John found himself silently counting to ten, before he once again pulled away from the other man's almost obsessive grip, to go and stand along side Sean, who had paled while listening to the exchange.

The two men sniggered, only stopping when the door opened again, and in came the man calling himself Escobar's brother, and with him a reluctant girl who hung back in the doorway shyly, eyes cast down, refusing to look up at any of the men in the room.

John couldn't help looking at the girl, her trim figure disfigured with enormous breasts, till Sean elbowed him in the side, and he realized he was staring.

"This is the first of your patients, Doctors," said Salvatore, drawing the scared girl further into the room. "Cut those implants out of her, and sew her back up for me."

Sean walked over to the girl, and began talking to her in calm tones, while John glared at the other three men.

"Can you give her a little privacy?" he asked, and Miguel laughed.

"She wont care," he said brutally, "She's just a whore!"

Salvatore frowned at his henchman, and added. "Pepe and Miguel will stay to observe that the procedure is done to my satisfaction, and of course, to take the implants as soon as you remove them," he said to John. "She can change into the operating smock in the bathroom, before you gentlemen use it to scrub up."

He turned to Pepe, and muttered something about being in the office, and left the room.

Sean directed the girl into the bathroom, and began sorting instruments, telling John under his breath, to watch what he was doing, and look as if he was busy. He was worried about Miguel's sadistic fascination for John, and wanted to try and keep them apart if he could. He had no idea of how John was going to react when faced with the actual surgery, but at the moment that was the least of his worries. He didn't know what John was planning to do, nor did he know that John was a law enforcement agent, and from his perspective, Miguel was a very large bully who wanted for some strange sick reason to hurt John, and Sean wasn't sure John would be able to fight back when push came to shove. He felt sick himself, at attempting to operate without any backup in the form of an anesthetist, or any sort of assistance.

The girl emerged from the bathroom, and silently climbed up on the bed, wearing a gown that opened down the front. She lay down and stared grimly up at the ceiling, studiously ignoring the men, holding out her right arm. Sean picked up a syringe, and began threading a line into her vein. John scrunched up his face, and looked away until he realized the other two men were staring at him, Miguel in particular, so he turned back to watch Sean.

After a moment, Sean injected some anesthetic into the drip line, and the girl closed her eyes, and slipped into unconsciousness.

"We will scrub up," he told them, and he indicated John to follow him into the bathroom, where a large container of soap and disinfectant waited.

John turned the water on full, to cover the sound of his voice.

"I can't do this," he said to Sean. "Be prepared for me to do something. Don't start cutting the girl straight away."

"I can't anyway," said Sean, in a way too calm voice. "I've got the yips!" and he stared at his shaking right hand as if it belonged to someone else. "We are screwed now. I can't do it, and they will expect you to do it, and just kill me instead." He took an unsteady breath.

John touched his arm. "Sean, go out there and pretend you are going to operate," he said urgently. "I'm going to take out that big ape – but you play along with them. If you have to operate on that poor girl, to save your life, you do it, shaking hand or not! If Miguel kills me, well you do what you have to do to stay alive! Do you understand?"

Sean nodded, and there was a savage thump on the bathroom door. Taking a deep breath, they both entered the 'operating' room, and pulled the provided masks over their faces.

Miguel and Pepe were standing in the corner of the room, both with guns at the ready.

John ignored them, and walked over to the tray, picking up a scalpel, and staring down at it. Sean came and stood on the other side of the bed, and picking up a stethoscope began listening to the girl's steady breathing, and heartbeat. John still stared down at the scalpel in his hand, his mind racing over possibilities.

He slid the scalpel up the sleeve of his shirt, as Sean began unbuttoning the girl's blouse, distracting their captors for a moment, by exposing the girl's extremely large breasts, before covering them again with a plain blue sheet.

He took a deep breath, his gaze met Sean's for a moment, and he wondered whether the fear was as evident in his own eyes, as it was in Sean's.

Bailey and Rachel sat in the large office that they had been allocated at the Police station, staring at Christian Troy. They had been questioning him for nearly an hour, and he was very close to losing his temper with them.

Bailey soon found out that although Christian may look like a carbon copy of his young agent, he was nothing like him in temperament.

Christian glared at Bailey, and answered his questions with a touch of arrogance and impatience. It was unsettling for both Bailey and Rachel to sit opposite this man, and see nothing of John in his demeanor. It reminded them constantly that John was in danger, and they were almost helpless in looking for him. The police had been out all day questioning all their contacts, and no one knew what had happened, it was if the two missing people had vanished into thin air.

A knock on the door, and one of the detectives helping them ushered in a tall, angular blonde woman with prominent blue eyes. She glanced around the room, and her eyes lit on Christian Troy, who stood up; and she rushed to his side.

"Christian, what on earth is going on? Where is Sean?" she demanded, grabbing his arm, and ignoring Bailey and Rachel. "The police have been around to my apartment twice, asking questions."

Rachel watched with surprise as the hard and almost arrogant veneer fell away from the plastic surgeon, and he smiled warmly and protectively down at the agitated woman clutching his sleeve.

He had exactly the same stunningly attractive smile as John, and Rachel sighed deeply, realizing how deeply she felt about her co-worker, and how much she had undervalued him and his smile, and wondering almost frantically if she was ever going to see him smile at her again.

"Its all right Julia," Christian said. "The police are doing all they can to find him. You know Sean, he's probably got the shits on again over something, and gone off for a good sulk."

"Well what have you done to upset him this time?" the blonde woman said angrily. "He was fine when I saw him on Saturday."

Christian moved away, and the smile died on his face. It was as if a light had been turned off in the room.

"I have done nothing to upset him," he said in a colorless tone. "When I saw him last, he was looking forward to being with you and the children for the weekend."

"Oh," was all the blonde said, turning to glare at Rachel, as if it was all her fault.

"Well what are you doing to find my husband?" she asked, but at the same time, moving closer to Christian, as if to stamp her ownership on him, and ignoring Rachel, directed her question at Bailey.

"Julia McNamara?" he asked, rising from behind the desk, to offer his hand. "I'm Bailey Malone, this is agent Rachel Burke, we work out of the VCTF, Atlanta."

"VCTF?" repeated Julia blankly. "I don't understand, what's that?"

"It's a special section of the F.B.I.," said Rachel. "We are …"

"F.B.I.?" said Julia in shock, deliberately cutting her off. "What are the F.B.I. involved for? What is going on?"

She clutched at Christian's sleeve again in agitation. Rachel got the impression that she was a nervy sort of woman; there was nothing restful about her.

Bailey sighed, and sat back down. It had been a long day, and they were no closer to finding John, than they had been at the start of it. He was now extremely worried about his younger agent, John was a friend as well as a colleague, and Bailey knew he was quick thinking and capable. If he hadn't been in touch yet, it meant that something was seriously wrong. He looked at Julia, and indicated the spare seat.

"I'd like to ask you some questions," he said mildly, not allowing the anxiety he was feeling to show in any way.


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

"Put the scalpel back on the table, Doctor Troy," said Pepe suddenly. John turned to look at him innocently, but Pepe nodded to his arm, where he had concealed the scalpel, then back at the table. "Put it back now." And he cocked his gun directly into John's face.

Without saying anything, John put the scalpel back. He noticed that Sean was already sweating, and that his hand was shaking. With an abrupt movement, he knocked the tray of instruments to the ground, and whirled around to face his captors.

"I refuse to operate on this poor child," he said. "Do what you will, you can't force me."

Miguel smiled, an evil smile. "I can force you, or at least, I can force your partner."

"No," said Sean. "I won't do it either!" and he took a deep breath, and came around to stand next to John.

"Oh, how many times will you listen to your partner scream, Doctor McNamara, before you do what we want?" asked Miguel, still smiling, and grabbing John by the arm, and pulling him viciously off balance, and causing him to stumble up against the adjoining bedroom door.

Sean's eyes widened with horror. Miguel laughed, and hit John with the barrel of his gun, across the face, and John fell backwards, hitting his head on the door on the way down.

Pepe ignored what Miguel was doing, and calmly indicated to Sean, to pick up the instruments that had fallen on the floor, and commence his operation.

Miguel opened the adjoining bedroom door, and half shoved, half threw John through the opening, where he lay sprawled on the floor, looking slightly dazed, blood trickling down from his temple. Miguel smiled again, in cruel anticipation, and stepped into the bedroom, his hands undoing his belt buckle as he kicked the door shut.

Sean was frozen to the spot. Pepe, with an evil smirk, indicated again, that he start the operation, and perhaps, he said, Miguel would not kill his partner, just play with him a little.

Finally Sean bent down, and slowly began picking things off the floor, his heart thumping. At the same time, Salvatore came through the other door, angrily, enquiring what was going on!

The sound of thumps, and muffled yells came from the other bedroom. Salvatore smiled, and looked at Pepe.

"It appears as if Miguel is having his fun," he said smiling. "You had better start doing what we want Doctor, or like your partner, you might find facing yourself Miguel. And you would not like that experience, trust me."

"I can't use any of this now," said Sean shakily, indicating the dirty instruments. "I'll have to sterilize them befo…."

He broke off as an almost inhuman scream came from the bedroom next-door, loud, anguished and horrible and cut off with a suddenness that was even more shocking.

All three men paused, Sean's heart fell with a sickening thud; he thought he was going to be sick, he knew with a certainty now that there would be no miracle escape for them and that John, if not terribly injured in some horrible and disgusting way, was probably dead.

Salvatore gave a little laugh, and Pepe joined in. "Perhaps your partner is regretting his arrogant words now, Doctor McNamara," he said, grinning widely, his back to the opening door, as he gloated at Sean. "Perhaps he wishes he had not tried to annoy Miguel."

"Or not," said John, leaning in the doorway, looking remarkably calm if a little disheveled, and pointing Miguel's gun directly at Salvatore's head. "I'd appreciate it, Pepe, if you gave your gun to Sean. Now!"

The three men turned as one, and goggled at the speaker in shocked amazement.

"Oh God John, I thought you were dead " exclaimed Sean hyperventilating, but still grabbing the gun from the suddenly shocked Pepe. "I thought that big ape had killed you – or worse!"

"Yeah, well he tried – unsuccessfully, I might add," replied John with a grin. "But I had other ideas. I warned him that I was going to take that gun away from him and shove it where it hurt him most! He was a little upset by my methods as I am sure you heard."

As he was speaking, he was indicating to the two men to get into the corner, and down on their knees. He moved a little gingerly, with one arm pressed to his side as he walked.

"What do we do now?" Sean asked John. "We have to get out of here and get help! Are you all right, you look a little worse for wear."

"I'll be fine, just a few bruised ribs, and a bump on the head. Nothing really - I've had much worse." John grinned and looked with interest at the range of syringes that were on display, then over at the two men in the corner.

"You are the doctor, do you have enough of the anesthetic, to put these guys to sleep for a while? It will save tying them up, and having to watch them. Miguel is already asleep, possibly permanently," he said, raising an eyebrow and indicating the bedroom behind them.

Pepe made a sudden violent move, but John was quicker, he brought the gun level, and the two men glared at each other, dark brown eyes clashing with cool blue. Then Pepe knelt back down, and John looked back at Sean, who began drawing liquid into a syringe.

Salvatore tried to pull his arm away, but John held it out with one hand, while keeping the gun pointed on Pepe with the other. Sean injected the anesthetic into him, and after a moment he closed his eyes and dropped onto the floor. Sean repeated the same again with Pepe.

"What do you want me to do with her?" Sean asked, and John turned to look at the sleeping girl.

"Leave her," he said, "Unfortunately, she is evidence. I have to ring this in."

"Evidence? Are you a cop?" Sean asked, the relief at being suddenly free overshadowed by the fact that John might have overheard something that would bring back the events of last year that had culminated in he and Christian dumping a body in the Everglades.

"No, not a cop, not any more," replied John. "F.B.I."

"Oh God," said Sean, "What's going to happen – I mean am I in any trouble?" he blurted out, and John who was on his way out the door to find a phone, turned back to look at him in surprise.

"Why would you be in any trouble?" he asked, genuinely surprised at the question. "You were the one they kidnapped, obviously because you are a well known plastic surgeon. You won't be in any trouble. Oh, can you check on Miguel in there. Let me know if I killed him or not? I am going to find a phone, and call in. And thank my team for the wonderful job they did of coming to our rescue," he added, sarcastically.


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

"VCTF control center," said George, as he absentmindedly picked up the phone next to his computer.

"Hi," said John, and George nearly dropped the receiver.

"Shit, where are you?" he said urgently. "Bailey is going mad trying to find you. What the hell happened?"

"I don't know where I am, can you trace this number?" replied John. "Where is Bailey – can I talk to him?"

"He's still in Miami," said George, fingers flying, sending the trace. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, fine," replied John. "I was kidnapped, they thought I was…"

"Christian Troy," said George quickly, "Yes, we met him."

"Oh," said John, "The rumor is that he looks a little like me. I'm looking forward to meeting him myself. I have his partner here, and a couple of drug runners. I need you to send the local guys out to pick them up."

"I'll get straight on to them," said George, "And Bailey and Rachel as well."

"Rachel still here too?" asked John, in a very disinterested tone. "I didn't think she'd want to stay around."

"Oh please," said George, "I wish you two would resolve all that sexual tension. It's giving me a headache."

John laughed as he hung up. Sean came out of the room, where he had been examining Miguel's wounds, and shook his head.

"You certainly hit him hard enough," he said. "He's not feeling too good, you broke his arm in two places, as well as several ribs."

"I didn't kill him?" asked John, almost disappointed. "Shit, never mind –he's the one who wanted to play rough. And he got in a few good punches too," he said, as he absentmindedly wiped his hand across his forehead, at the trickle of dried blood that was there.

"Come back in here," said Sean, "Let me look at your injuries. At least let me clean that up," indicating John's head wound.

"O.K.," said John, sitting down where Sean pointed, and watching Sean gather equipment. "We should be expecting the police to rock up fairly soon."

He screwed up his face a little as Sean dabbed antiseptic on the graze on his head, and then obligingly removed his tattered shirt, so Sean could feel his ribs.

"Could be cracked," said Sean, as John winced noticeably when he touched his side. "Could be broken. Can you breath all right?"

"Yes," said John, "It hurts, but not that much. The guy has a punch like a mule's kick."

He grinned up at Sean and added "Not that I've ever been kicked by a mule, of course,"

Sean grinned back at him, as they heard sirens in the distance wailing their way closer and louder.

"About time too," said John as the sirens stopped outside, then armed police were rushing into the house, followed by Bailey and then Rachel, both running.

"Are you alright?" demanded Bailey, rushing up and restraining himself from yelling at John out of relief. Rachel hesitated for a moment; then put her hand on his arm, looking intently at him as if she were seeing him for the first time, needing to touch him to make sure he was real.

John looked down at her; then smiled widely, putting one arm around her, and giving her the slightest of hugs.

"It's about time you lot showed up," he said teasingly. "I got sick of waiting for you, and had to rescue myself. And Sean – this is Sean by the way, Sean this is my boss, Bailey Malone, and a good friend, Agent Rachel Burke."

"Doctor McNamara?" queried Bailey, and put out his hand, shaking Sean's warmly.

"I am glad to meet you at last. Is John badly injured?" It was obviously his first concern, and Sean shook his head.

"An X-ray will determine whether those ribs are cracked or broken. Apart from that and a few bruises, he seems o.k. to me," said Sean.

"I'm fine Bailey, honestly. And what's more, the guys that kidnapped us are all asleep on the floor in there. There is also a young girl asleep, she has implants filled with heroin, but you might like to tell the guys to be gentle with her."

While John shrugged himself into the remains of his shirt, the senior detective began asking questions, and after listening John give a brief explanation of what had happened, he informed both John and Sean that they would be required at the Police Station for questioning the next day, and allowed them to leave.

They dropped Sean off at his house, and continued on back to the motel, where Bailey allowed John to shower, shave and change into clean clothes, before dropping him off at the local hospital for X-rays, totally ignoring his protests, and continuing on to the Police station to facilitate the reports.

Rachel went with John, laughing at his expression of horror, when the emergency doctor insisted on doing a thorough examination, but he was pleased when the X-rays cleared him of having any breaks although the bruising on his side was most impressive.

"I guess you don't want to go to that restaurant for dinner again," Rachel suggested, when they were back in the room that John was going to share with Bailey. John threw a pillow at her, and loftily informed her that he was supposed to rest, and she could go and buy take-out Chinese for him, while he reclined at his ease on the bed, and watched television.

When Bailey returned, they were sitting on the balcony, eating Chinese food from the local shop, and arguing over which of them supported the superior football team, Rachel arguing for her beloved Buffalo Bills, and John staunch in his support of the Atlanta Falcons, as if the horror of the previous 36 hours hadn't happened. He watched them for a moment, thankful that John had managed to get himself and Sean McNamara out of a really nasty situation, before joining in with the discussion.

The next morning, after a decent sleep, John was up early and in the shower. He stood before the mirror, and looked at the deep bruises on his side, which had somehow become even more colorful this morning, and wondered how the other men were feeling.

It was on the way to the Police station, that John's curiosity finally overcame him, and he turned around to look at Rachel, sitting in the back of the car.

"So, does this other doctor really look like me?' he asked, watching her expression. She smiled a little and looked back at him for a while, studying his face, before answering.

"Oh, a little," she replied. "But he is so much better looking than you. I really don't know how you two could be mistaken for one another."

Bailey laughed. "Well if he accompanies his partner this morning, you may get to meet him. That should be interesting."

"Better looking?" asked John, slightly disgruntled. "Sean said he looked exactly like me, but older!" The 'so there' was implied, but not spoken.

Rachel, still smiling glanced up to meet Bailey's eyes in the rear vision mirror.

"Oh yes he is a little older, and so much more sophisticated," she said dreamily. "And of course, a rich surgeon, exquisitely dressed, he has a lot going for him. No wonder he has a string of women competing for his attention." And she gave a longing sigh.

John snorted in disgust, and dropped the subject.

He spent an hour talking to two Miami detectives, and giving a statement, while Bailey made arrangements for the VCTF jet to prepare for the homeward journey, and Rachel sat in the break room talking to Stacey Loxton about John's accidental breaking of one drug ring that had troubled the Miami police for a long time.

She was on her second cup of coffee when John tracked her down. He smiled at Stacey, sitting opposite, and flopped into the spare chair, sighing with relief.

Rachel introduced the young detective to John, and smiled when she saw the shocked recognition in Stacey's eyes. She congratulated him on the arrests, and he shrugged his shoulders and flashed his most attractive grin at her.

Rachel watched her melt with an amused expression, she was getting used to watching women react that way to one of John's smiles.

"Well, that's it then," he said, "We can go as soon as the plane is ready. I would like to catch up with Sean though, I'll ask Bailey if we can stop by his clinic on the way to the airport."

"Sean McNamara is here at the moment," said Stacey. "He should be just about finished giving his statement. His partner is with him. I must say, that you do look very much like Doctor Troy. Its amazing really."

John flashed a look of triumph at Rachel, and then saw Sean emerge from somewhere down the corridor, followed by an extremely smartly dressed version of…. himself!

A/N - Many thanks to you wonderful people who bothered to review. It means so much to me. I will post the final chapter of this story tomorrow.


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

He stood up slowly, as the two men approached, and Sean enthusiastically shook his hand; then turned to his partner.

"Christian, this is John Grant, he saved my life, I guess you could say. John, this is Christian Troy."

The two men stared at each other in silence.

Rachel shook her head, in disbelief, and Stacey's mouth dropped open. Standing together, they were breathtaking. Sean, who had had more time than most to become accustomed to their amazing likeness, smiled watching the reactions. Bailey walked up, accompanied by Julia McNamara, who broke the silence, by throwing herself into Sean's arms.

"Oh Sean, what happened, I was so worried about you," she said, before turning around and realizing that everyone was not looking at her, but at the two men who looked so much alike. "Christian? – Christian, I didn't know you had a brother," she said accusingly to him. "In all these years you never told me!" She placed a hand on Christian Troy's arm, breaking the trance in which he seemed to be lost.

Christian shook his head a little, as if to clear it, and said the first thing that came into his mind.

"I didn't know either," he said quietly, almost emotionlessly. He reached out and shook John's hand, still staring intently into blue eyes that exactly matched his own.

Seen side-by-side, Rachel could see some slight differences between the two men, but they were minute. Christian Troy was a little older than John, his hair was styled differently, and he was fractionally taller, but there wasn't much in it. They could have been twins.

John recovered from the shock he was feeling, and smiled tentatively at Christian.

"This doesn't happen every day," he said to the still stunned doctor. "Sean thinks we must be related. After seeing you, I do too."

"You two don't know each other?" asked Julia, in amazement. "I've seen identical twins that don't look as much alike."

Christian finally let John's hand go. He didn't want to, - he had never had any family at all, and he felt really strange inside, thinking that perhaps there was a possibility - that perhaps there was someone whom he could claim as 'family.'

Only Sean could tell of his inner conflict, only Sean knew him well enough to know how emotional he was inside, and how fragile. To the others, it looked as if he were stiffening up, becoming 'arrogant', when he dropped John's hand and turned to leave, without saying anything more.

Sean flicked a look at John; then turned to follow his partner, and Julia trailed behind. For a long time John said nothing, but then excused himself to Bailey and Rachel, and the other interested onlookers, and went after them. He caught up with the three just before they reached the car park, and called out to Christian to wait a moment.

"We should talk," he said to the doctor, who nodded, still not saying anything.

"Sean said you don't know about your family?" he continued, glancing at Sean, who nodded at him.

"Can we go somewhere, just the two of us, and talk?" he asked again, watching emotions play across the face of the man opposite him.

Julia McNamara moved closer to Christian and glared at John.

"We are Christian's family," she said to him, unable to stop staring at him, but Sean came and took her arm, pulling her off Christian.

"You go," he said to his partner, who still hadn't spoken, "I'll go with Julia, and you bring my car back when you've had a talk with John. Go on, it will do both of you good."

As he was speaking, Sean pressed his hand on his partner's shoulder, in a gesture of comfort, and led a protesting Julia away.

"Do you know where they sell decent coffee?" asked John, and finally Christian took a breath, and his shoulders relaxed.

"There's a café just down here," he said. The two turned together and began walking across the road, where they found a diner, and sat and ordered coffee.

The waitress did a double take, eyeing the two men as if in disbelief.

John sat down at a window, and looked out across the road, for several minutes, then sensing that Christian was overwhelmed, turned back towards him, and smiled tentatively.

"Sean told me you were adopted out as a child," he said, gathering his courage. "I think there is a strong, more than strong possibility we are related."

Christian gave a small ironic laugh. "I don't know anything about my parents," he said. "I was fostered out to a family, here in Miami, a not very nice family. I've never had one of my own. My foster mother died before I really knew her - my foster father…." He stopped suddenly, his breath catching, his voice flat, unemotional, but his eyes told another story.

John bit his lip for a moment. "My mother was wonderful," he said slowly. "She died when I was 18."

They sat there for a moment, John stirring sugar into his coffee, Christian wanting to know more, but not knowing how to ask.

"I've thought a lot about what my family would have been like," said Christian finally, almost longingly. "Can you tell me?"

John rolled his eyes dramatically and chewed some more on his bottom lip. "First, let me tell you, that I don't get on with my father, or speak to him at all. His name is Patrick O'Doyle, and he is a moneylender out of Boston, with strong ties to the mob there. My mother ran from him when I was a child, and I've had very little to do with him since."

Christian raised his eyebrows a little at that, and nodded slowly.

"He was a violent man, and he hit me and my mother a lot." John went on to say, staring down at the tablecloth, and wondering, even while he was saying it, if his father's violence was not preferable to what ever it was he saw in Christian's eyes.

"You really think there is a chance we are related?' asked Christian again. John looked up at him, chasing away the shadows of his childhood, and smiled.

"The O'Doyle's of Boston are quite a group," he said. "There is my father, who was the black sheep of the family, his brother Jamie, who is a computer salesman, or some such thing, and his sister, my aunt Bridget, who was one of the beauties of her day, and who married a doctor. My cousins are all girls, all of us dark hair, blue eyes. From what I remember when we were younger, we all looked like carbon copies, like we'd been churned out from a factory somewhere, except of course, I was a boy. My grandfather, who was also a violent old bastard, and very controlling, used to say the O'Doyle's stamp their mark on their own."

He looked across at Christian once more. "I believe you are an O'Doyle as well. You look like my father. And to some extent, my uncle Jamie, but more like Patrick, more like me."

"So there is a possibility that we could be – brothers?" asked Christian carefully, playing with the sugar container on the table.

"Yes," replied John. "A strong possibility. My father toured around quite a lot when he was younger. Look, this is a lot for you to take in, a lot for me as well. Think about things for a while, and if you want, I can answer any questions you might have. If you are really serious in wanting to find out, we could always do a DNA test or something. Here's my card, when you are ready, come and see me in Atlanta. I can point you in the direction of the rest of the family, even if I won't go there myself."

Christian accepted John's card, placing it in the breast pocket of his shirt.

John finished his coffee, and stood up. "I have to go," he said, with some reluctance. "Bailey won't hold the plane long. I hope you will come to Atlanta, soon."

Christian stood also, and put out his hand. "I will," he said, squeezing John's hand tightly for a moment. "Have a safe flight back – and take care of that feisty redhead."

"Oh, I intend to," John laughed squeezed Christian's hand, and then walked away quickly.

Christian stood there for a long moment, and took John's card out of his pocket, turning it over and over in his hands as he stared after John, watching him cross the road, and walk back into the Police station. Finally he threw some money down on the table, and walked out himself, realizing he had an appointment with a client in less than 15 minutes. He unlocked Sean's car, and climbed in, stopping for a moment to eye the pretty girl who pulled up and parked next to him. As she smiled shyly at him, with a blatant invitation in her eyes, he drove out of the park, and headed back to the clinic, feeling a little strange but happier than he had for a long time.

A/N - I really hope you enjoyed reading this story, and thank you again for your reviews.


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